


"you're my world"

by PigeonsInATree



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Did I Mention Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, Love, M/M, Marriage, Marriage Proposal, Misunderstandings, Post-Canon, Songfic, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, does jon know how to cry?, let them, m/m - Freeform, not sasha didnt happen, pls dont sue me when you need cavities filled, technically a songfic but only the title, they deserve to be happy, tim isnt dead, we dont know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:26:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24483502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PigeonsInATree/pseuds/PigeonsInATree
Summary: “Martin, what are you hiding?”In the soft, tired, comfortable atmosphere they had created, neither seemed to notice how the question echoed ever so slightly. Martin, leaning towards the embracing tendrils of sleep, saw no problem in complying with the pull of the question. He leaned his head forward and rested his chin on top of Jon’s head, grinning softly and murmuring something into his hair. It was muffled beyond recognition, and Jon turned his head fully upwards towards Martin, squinting his eyes minutely. Martin smiled blearily and pressed a kiss underneath Jon’s eye. He tried, and failed, to scowl away the smile creeping up on him as he continued to glower weakly at him.So when the knowledge of a simple wedding band, hidden in between the layers of a  stack of old clothes they never wore anymore, shoved into the back of their closet, wormed its way into his mind, he allowed the exhaustion of the moment to override his usual response. Jon sighed out, content with the blurry answer he received, and turned back into a more comfortable position.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 18
Kudos: 157





	"you're my world"

The door to their apartment opened slowly as both Jon and Martin ambled in, their day at the Institute robbing them of the energy to function past sundown. They go through the motions in companionable silence, dropping the day at the door as they both prepare for a very routine night in. Martin headed towards the bathroom for a shower as Jon begins to pull out the instant dinners they enjoy side by side every night. He can hear the shower turn off as soon as the water begins to boil. He already had the two cups of instant noodles sitting on the table and was pulling out a mug for his own tea when Martin wandered back into the kitchen, rubbing at his eyes blearily in a pair of fleece pants and an old sleep shirt. Jon smiled.

After living together for nearly three years, Jon would suspect he’d be used to the sight by now, used to the way his stomach fills gently with butterflies and the thought cute rises unbidden to his mind. Martin yawns as he sits down at their kitchen table, palming blindly for his dinner as Jon places a hand on the back of his neck and softly kisses the top of his head. He lets his hand linger there, fingers pulling gently at the longer hairs at the base of Martin’s neck.

“You need a haircut.” He muttered, fingers still rubbing the ginger hairs between the pads of his fingers. Martin mumbles something into a forkful of noodles, and Jon huffs fondly before slowly making his way to their bedroom to change into something more comfortable. By the time he made it back to the kitchen, Martin had already finished his dinner and had begun to make Jon’s tea for him. Jon always considered his life, their life, hectic. There were better words to describe it, and that was definitely an understatement, but it was moments like these that Jon knew he would cherish for the rest of his life. The absurdly normal routine after work each day, the ease with which they floated around the house, riding it like the gentle swell of the ocean waves. He adored the mundanity of it, and knew Martin did too. He simply knew, no magical fear-related powers needed to confirm that, for once in his life, he was loved.

So as he settled down on the couch next to Martin, drawing his legs up underneath him and a warm cup of tea in his hands, he noticed vaguely how Martin seemed to be tenser than usual. His spine set just a little straighter than normal, hands clasped in his lap a little tighter. Jon arched his brow carefully and placed his cup on the side table quietly before snaking his arms around Martin’s torso, squeezing gently and snuggling down. Martin tensed for a split second, but sighed tiredly and settled in, curling around him and turning his eyes from the buzzing TV to Jon’s head.

“You okay?” He mumbled, “You’re only ever this clingy in the mornings. Did I miss something?” Jon huffed, and Martin would have called this definite pout cute out loud if he weren’t afraid of Jon’s unrestrained sleep-punches. He wholy expected Jon to burrow down further into his torso, and prepared himself to have to carry Jon back to their room after he inevitably fell asleep. What he didn’t expect, however, was for Jon to answer. 

“You were… tense, and quiet, and I’m not particularly fond of you when you’re too quiet.” At this, Jon yawned quietly and Martin smiled.

“Sorry, it’s just been a long day.”

“I understand that, but you’re still weirdly tense. Are you worried about our dinner tomorrow?” At that, Martin stifled an odd cough and turned his face away slightly.

“I-of course not, it’s just a dinner, Jon, why would I-” At Martin’s feeble attempt at deflecting, Jon laughed. Well, it was more like chuckling. A few small huffs accompanied by a small smile that most definitely reached his eyes in a way he would deny when he rediscovered consciousness the next day. Martin shut up immediately, drinking in the sound he loved so much, and definitely did not hear enough. Jon, the remnants of the smile still gracing his face, craned his neck around and pressed a soft kiss to the underside of his jaw. He then twisted his legs and torso around to face Martin fully.

“You’re hiding something.” Jon deadpanned, tilting his head just ever so slightly.

“Absolutely not.” Martin countered, schooling his expression to the best of his ability in an attempt to not give anything away. Jon’s eyes narrowed.

“Yes you are.”

“Me? Never.”

“Martin…”

“Why would you think I was hiding something? You know me so well.” Jon sighed as Martin grinned tiredly at him. He would be worried, but he could hear the smile behind the sigh, so he feigned ignorance to any of the accusations before yawning widely, shutting his eyes tightly and trying to fight off the exhaustion so he could enjoy the domesticity. 

Now, perhaps it was the exhaustion that caused him to not notice the faint green glow of Jon’s eyes, and maybe it was the same exhaustion that stopped Jon from clamping his mouth shut as he spoke.

“Martin, what are you hiding?”

In the soft, tired, comfortable atmosphere they had created, neither seemed to notice how the question echoed ever so slightly. Martin, leaning towards the embracing tendrils of sleep, saw no problem in complying with the pull of the question. He leaned his head forward and rested his chin on top of Jon’s head, grinning softly and murmuring something into his hair. It was muffled beyond recognition, and Jon turned his head fully upwards towards Martin, squinting his eyes minutely. Martin smiled blearily and pressed a kiss underneath Jon’s eye. He tried, and failed, to scowl away the smile creeping up on him as he continued to glower weakly at him.

Now, for the record, Jon hates Knowing things accidentally. He curses the irony of crossing peoples’ boundaries, being an incredibly secretive person himself. He has seen too many times the effect of involuntarily scrounging around, his mind’s Eye picking up scraps of information that he should definitely not know. There were very few occasions where it seemed to work out for the better, or pass seemingly unnoticed.

So when the knowledge of a simple wedding band, hidden in between the layers of a stack of old clothes they never wore anymore, shoved into the back of their closet, wormed its way into his mind, he allowed the exhaustion of the moment to override his usual response. Jon sighed out, content with the blurry answer he received, and turned back into a more comfortable position.

Maybe, just maybe, Jon lets his blurry mind conjure up a reaction to Martin getting down on his knee. Perhaps he blearily dreams up the simple wedding he didn’t know he always wanted, quiet and intimate and so perfect for them. In the moment, he basks in the pure domesticity, the absolute normality of it, and breathes.

At this point, Martin was incredibly close to giving into unconsciousness, and Jon, being at the same point, took those thoughts and filed them away somewhere in his brain to be processed when lucidity was more readily available. With another jaw-cracking yawn, he stood up from his place on the couch and grabbed his now cold cup of undrinken tea. He shuffled over to the sink and poured it out. Martin had already stood from the couch and had begun walking to their bedroom. He followed behind him, and they slipped underneath their covers. If Jon, perhaps, had a small smile plastered across his features, Martin didn't say anything. If, of course. If.

\---

6:27 a.m

As much as Jon hated it, he always woke up early. Too early, in his opinion. He would whine (and later deny the possibility of himself ever whining, you can't possibly be serious-) about knowing all too well how early morning looked, how the sun peeked over the horizon and softly wove itself through the pastel clouds. He could go on about how you could see the change in light across the buildings even through an overcast sky, the shift from the grey-blue to charcoal oranges and pinks. He never stared at the sky for too long, though. He never wanted to see the day when it might blink back again.

Jon hated waking up early, hated being programmed to leave too early for a job that was too stressful and then making it home too late at night. So on days off, when, in his opinion, the best possible view lay right next to him instead of outside the window (though he would never admit that out loud), he regretted waking up early just a little less. As he lays and drinks in the sight of his boyfriend on the pillow next to him, arms still draped over each other and legs tangled in a kaleidoscope of fleece pajama bottoms and bedsheets. Slowly, consciousness dripped its way back to Jon like honey, slow and sweet and absolutely perfect in the early morning atmosphere.

The previous night’s ‘conversation’ came last, and maybe it was the exhaustion still smothering his comprehensive ability, but a small smile split across Jon’s face as he remembered what had happened. Not in very clear detail, of course, but the words ring and wedding ambled about his brain, and he wasn’t quite sure if he’d ever been happier.

So as he laid there, staring at Martin’s face, he smiled, genuine and soft and possibly, for what felt like the first time in years, showing his teeth, if only a little bit. If he had honestly remembered how, he would’ve cried. Martin’s arms were still wrapped around Jon’s torso, and he curled into the embrace more, tightening his arms around his neck and simply melting. He stayed there, content and warm and very comfortable, until later morning began to roll around and Martin started to stir.

Jon sighed contentedly and laid, waiting for Martin to wake up enough for them to make their breakfast together, choreographed from months and months of practice. Now, as much as Jon would never admit it, like a myriad of other things, he knew each and every little thing Martin would do next.

Step One: Take a deep breath.

As if on cue, Martin takes a deep breath in, and Jon sinks even further into the sheets.  
Step Two: Wrinkle nose, scrunch eyes, and tighten arms around whatever he’s holding.

Jon awaited step two patiently, not able to see if Martin really did twist his face up like he did every morning due to the fact his face was pressed into his chest. He breathed in the smell of Martin’s ginger deodorant and let a small, light grunt escape him when he was subsequently squeezed.

Step Three: Open eyes one at a time, starting with the right one, then the left.

At this point, Jon had lifted his head from its resting spot on his boyfriend’s chest and was looking at his face. Martin’s right eye winked open groggily, blinking several times before settling, half-lidded and followed by the left one. He mumbled out a low ‘good morning’ as Jon hummed in response, pressing a light kiss on his jaw. Martin lazily chased after it, and Jon rolled his eyes before pressing a proper kiss onto Martin’s lips.

He sat up and scooted off the end of the bed, making his way to the bathroom shower and brush his teeth. As Jon showered, he could hear Martin clumsily make his way to the bathroom, brushing his teeth and then ambling into the kitchen to start their breakfast. He couldn’t quite tell if it was the hot water rushing over his body or the knowledge that it was no longer his boyfriend making breakfast, but his fiance, that caused him to feel, as Tim and Sasha would oh-so lovingly put it, “warm and fuzzy” on the inside.

Water dripped complacently from the faucet as Jon towel dried bi hair and tied it up messily, opting to deal with it later. He pulled on some comfortable, large clothes in the bedroom and made his way into the kitchen.

Martin had since turned on their radio and was nodding along to one of those overplayed pop songs, mouthing the words as he cooked up their eggs. Jon walked past him and grabbed their coffee mugs. Jon’s was a plain white mug with a middle finger on the bottom, courtesy of Tim. Martin’s sported a simple drawing of a spider, with the writing “spiders aren’t that bad” written over it. No one could agree whether it was a stupid gift from Elias because Peter had convinced him to get it, or a parting gift from Annabelle Cane. Both were disconcerting options, but they had grown to love the irony of it, gifter notwithstanding. Jon smiled slightly at the memory and poured both him and Martin their coffees, adding the ungodly amount of sugar and cream into his boyfriend’s that he always insisted was ‘necessary to make it palatable’. 

Martin turned to ask Jon a question but faltered for a second, a smile of his own forming on his face.

“Well, you’re awfully smiley this morning? Did I do something nice that I forgot about again?” Jon huffed exasperatedly. If Martin didn’t remember, he wouldn’t be surprised. He was still smiling softly into his coffee when he answered, mug cradled between his hands.

“What, Martin, am I not allowed to smile?” Martin chuckled as he plated their eggs and bacon for himself, avocado toast for Jon.

“I never said that. You’re just all… smiley this morning. It’s nice.” Martin’s eyes crinkled at the corners as he said this, Jon’s heart catching on the sun rays that he emitted. Quoth the annoying archival assistants, “warm and fuzzy”. Jon placed Martin's coffee in front of him and sat down in his seat. They ate in silence for a while, enjoying the food and the company and the way the morning sun rays glitched softly through the trees’ leaves and onto their wall. 

It was as Martin was gathering up his dirty plate to take to the kitchen sink when the question popped into Jon’s head.

“Martin.” He hummed in response, rinsing the dishes under the water before placing them to the side to turn and face his boyfriend fully.

“Why titanium?”

Now, Martin had been blindsided by many things before. Questions, answers, the death of his mother, particularly, but this one stumped him completely. Titanium? He thought to himself, racking his brains for anything he had done recently that had anything to do with titanium, of all things. Jon sat at the table, waiting patiently as he cradled his coffee in his hands, eyes still half-lidded and a very small smile still present on his face.

So of course, when the realization hit him like a truck, it took nearly all of his self control to school his expression into one of confusion as he choked out his response.

“Titanium? I have no idea what you’re getting at, Jon.” Jon’s eyebrow rose slowly in a very pointed look that seemed to say you… don’t know? Martin was thoroughly scared now, battling between three options as he continued looking at Jon witha most likely bad impression of confusion plastered across his face.

Option One: Jon has found the ring and had taken it upon himself to propose first in his own, odd, Jonathon Sims way. He had once written an unofficial statement and had Martin read it, reporting ‘ghosts’ in their flat as a passive aggressive way to tell Martin to stop stealing all of his oversized sweaters.

Option Two: He had somehow Known Martin was going to propose and was simply taking matters into his own hands. He really hoped that if this were the answer, it was on accident. He knew Jon hated Knowing things without permission, hated the relationship-destroying breach of privacy and hated having to explain how or why.

And Option Three: Jon was talking about something entirely different and Martin genuinely had no idea what he was talking about. The probability of this was low, considering it could only be so much of a coincidence, because the wedding band Martin had purchased was, in fact, titanium.

Martin maintained eye contact as Jon tilted his head slightly, lips pursing ever-so-slightly.

“The wedding band?” Option three was out. “The one you got. I was just wondering why titanium. You’re oddly surprised Martin, I’m rather worried now.”

Martin picked up his coffee from where he had placed it on the counter and took a sip. The easiest way to deal with this, Martin thought, was to play dumb. Maybe if he could convince Jon he knew nothing about it, he would forget about it and his plan would go off without a hitch. Sure, maybe the plan was a bit overboard. Anything that Tim and Sasha helped plan would always end up leaning towards the more romantic side.

“I still don’t know what you’re talking about Jon. Could it have been a weird dream?” Martin took another sip of his coffee.

“I… you, last night-you… hmmm.” Jon’s brow furrowed and he closed his eyes, desperately trying to recall in more detail what had happened the night prior, more than ethereal dreams of rich wedding cream and tearful vows. Martin still sat leaning against the counter, drinking his coffee and trying to play off his nervousness as confusion.

“Jon, I’m sure it was nothing. You don’t need to hurt yourself trying to remember something.”

“No! I was…” Jon growled out, a little more frustrated. “We were sitting on the couch, and you were oddly stiff, and there was something you weren’t telling me, I was sure of that. And you wouldn’t tell me and, and I…”

At this point, the situation had dawned fully on Martin. Option Two, it seemed. Neither of them ever tended to remember what they did when they were tired, anyway. He let Jon continue, though. Sure, maybe Tim would be sad his proposal plan wouldn’t be used, but Martin still wanted Jon to come to the realization on his own. And as if on cue, he did.

Across the table from him, Martin watched the realization dawn on Jon’s face. A soft ‘oh’ escaped his lips before he turned red. A good color on him, in Martin’ opinion. His eyes widened as he quickly looked up at Martin before averting his eyes just as fast.

“Oh god, Martin, I’m so sorry, I- I didn’t mean to, I swear, you probably had so much planned and I just ruined it, oh god, I’m so, so sorry, it’s, I-” Jon could have stumbled through a thousand more apologies before even thinking of stopping, but he was interrupted by a snort followed by full-on laughter from his boyfriend, just boyfriend, not fiance, you idio-

“God, Jon, it’s alright, I’m not even mad, it’s just,” Martin struggled to talk through the tears threatening to fall. “You looked so, so… so embarrassed it was amazing. It really doesn’t matter, love, Tim helped me plan it and you were probably going to hate it anyway.” Martin set his coffee back down on the counter and walked to their room to grab the small, velvet box. He could still hear Jon muttering apologies, so he hurried back to the kitchen, taking Jon’s white-knuckled hands and clasping them between his own. Jon was still thoroughly red, averting his eyes and probably tearing himself down in his mind.

Martin took a deep breath and, albeit vaguely shakily, got down on one knee.

“Jonathan Sims, you were, are and always will be the love of my life. As much as working at that damned Institute hurt, meeting you is something I can’t thank the universe enough for. You made everything so much better for me, and I don’t think I will ever be able to thank you enough. So, if you’ll have me, can I try to make it up to you for the rest of our lives? I promise to not be too annoying…” Martin had let his eyes drift away from Jon’s face during his proposal, and when they returned, he found something he was sure he had never seen before.

Jon was crying.

Hot, salty tears that streamed down his face and left tracks that Martin dearly wanted to kiss away. He got up hurriedly and moved his hands from Jon’s to his face, wiping gently.

“I’m sorry, that was probably too much, I should have waited, I-” He was interrupted by a quiet hiccup from Jon as he smiled weakly, raising one of his now-free hands to cup Martin’s.

“Yes.”

“What?”

“Yes, I’ll marry you, Martin.” And before Martin could react in any of the ways he wanted to, to shout or cry or laugh, Jon kissed him. It was harsh and rough and absolutely perfect for the both of them. Their teeth clashed but neither of them cared. Jon pulled away a couple seconds later, smiling too hard to continue and then trying his best to encircle his fiance in a hug. Martin was smiling too, had been for a while now, as he returned the hug just as fiercely. 

“God,” Jon Mumbled into Martin’s sweater, “I’m so happy. Thank you Martin, really.” Martin smiled and placed his chin on the top of Jon’s head. They stayed that way for a while, hugging and most likely crying more tears. After a couple minutes, or an hour, neither of them were paying enough attention to care, their surroundings seemed to come back into focus. The sun had risen higher, throwing gold light to fall through the leaves and paint their walls once more. Soft music still floated from their old radio, and Martin had begun to hum to it again.

And of course, Martin started to dance around the kitchen softly, still holding Jon close as they swayed smoothly through their homemade paradise. Breaking the comfortable quiet softly, Jon spoke up.

“Are we still going to dinner?”

Martin huffed and smiled.

“Do you want to?” Jon paused for a second and thought.

“No, not really.”

Martin hugged him tighter still and whispered into Jon’s hair, feeling his small smile against his collarbone.

“Alright then, we won’t.”

\---  
If, when they found out, Tim was immensely disappointed that Martin didn’t end up using his proposal plan, Jon didn’t know. He was too busy enjoying the warmth of Martin’s arm around him, holding him close as he listened to the banter of his coworkers, his friends, fingers fidgeting with the titanium band on his ring finger.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey!!! I know I haven't posted in a while but oh well!!!
> 
> I wrote this with a lot of help from my friend takethebreadsticksandRUN go read her stuff she is a never ending machine of soft jonmartin content. Also credit to her for the idea about Jon writing a statement about Martin stealing his clothes she wrote it go read it. She also beta'd this
> 
> Anyway, this is the longest thing I've ever written and I'm really proud and I hope you enjoy!!! Comments are appreciated!!
> 
> Come yell at me on insta @pigeons_and_pencils or tumblr @pigeonsinatree
> 
> Thank you for reading!!!


End file.
